Tickling Tragedy

It’s a beautiful sickness,
to spiral in and out of myself
like this.

I can feel so centered and secure,
until these bursts of instant insanity bury me in
pretty,
poisoned
perspectives
that consume and coddle my manic memory.

Your subconscious sings imagery to me, and I laugh to paint it into twisted understandings.
(I hear your cute little mental asides, I can't help but giggle. And when you react I get excited from the synchronicity).

And to those of you that wonder why I’ve gone awry,
I have to say your judgments are simple, boring, and one dimensional.
(That sentence was hypocritical).

Anyway, so .... (insert dramatic pause here),

~Now stay with me~

I’m tangled in spider webs,
dancing wildly,
freeing the flies to invade my lungs.

They drive me to be so careless with my tongue.
( I kind of wish would blush enough to switch gestures, but somehow that seems awful).

They vibrate in hungry hums inside of me.
They breed
expanding me, with insects and tragedies.
But.. it tickles
(and I don’t mind the sting.)

Like always, I purge ( necessarily so, I can only hold so much),
in breathes of sloppy, sticky confessions.

And at the end of it all,
my logical half always seems to cling to the same law:
“Nothing is without cause”.

Oh god…

So what?
Carrion?

Carry on.